"Oh!" said Camelia, "_do_ you know me? Even now, do you know me? I"m not one bit good! I am still the horrid child who clamored for your love; my love for you the only good thing in me! You love me, all the same? You don"t mind? don"t expect anything? I want so much, but I will have nothing, not a kiss, not your hand holding mine,--there, let it go,--on false pretences."
"I can only retaliate. _I_ am not one bit good. Dear, horrid child, will you put up with me?"
"Oh, I never minded!" she cried. "I loved you, good or bad."
"And I you; only I minded. That is all the difference. There isn"t a falsity between us, Camelia," he added.
"No, there isn"t."
"Then, may I kiss you, and hold your hand?"
"Yes; only--first--first--" she held him off, smiling, yet still doubting, still tremulously grave, "I am not good enough; no, I am not good enough."
"Quite good enough for me," said Perior. "I am getting tired of your conscience, Camelia."
THE END.